“Duane,” she said, softly. “Captain MacNelly sent me to you.”
“But you shouldn't have come,” replied Duane.
“As soon as he told me I would have come whether he wished it or not. You left me—all of us—stunned. I had no time to thank you. Oh, I do-with all my soul. It was noble of you. Father is overcome. He didn't expect so much. And he'll be true. But, Duane, I was told to hurry, and here I'm selfishly using time.”
“Go, then—and leave me. You mustn't unnerve me now, when there's a desperate game to finish.”
“Need it be desperate?” she whispered, coming close to him.
“Yes; it can't be else.”
MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that Duane was sure. And he felt that she had wanted to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful, and they shed a light upon Duane he had never seen before.
“You're going to take some mad risk,” she said. “Let me persuade you not to. You said—you cared for me—and I—oh, Duane—don't you—know—?”
The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, faltered and broke and failed.
Duane sustained a sudden shock and an instant of paralyzed confusion of thought.